Arete
by Inertial Deathlock
Summary: Sith are evil. Sith are cruel, remorseless machines who live for nothing but the destruction of all we hold dear. Right? A story of the Old Republic.
1. Chapter 1

*The following is a recording taken from a Republic security camera, prison level, Coruscant. Approx. 3500-3000 BBY*

The man's robes were long, concealing, and looked, felt, and smelled like a flap of skin shaved off a Bantha. The two guards felt an increasing need to wash their hands as they led the cuffed prisoner into an interrogation room.

They shoved him roughly into a chair (receiving a disapproving glare for their troubles, then stood on opposite sides of the door and waited.

"So…anything going on these days?" hazarded the prisoner in a weak bid to initiate small talk.

"What's going on is that your interrogator is currently on her way. She hasn't the best of reputations concerning prisoner treatment. Good enough?" replied one of the guards.

"That works," the man responded, shrugging.

The trio waited in silence for around two minutes until the door slid open and a robed woman entered.

"Master Jedi," said the guards in greeting. She nodded curtly, taking a seat on the other side of the table.

"Why were you at a bar?" she asked.

"Wait, what? No introductions?"

"Later. Now answer the question."

"What do you think 99% of bar patrons are there for? To get drunk."

She frowned, obviously puzzled.

"Let's try this again. Start somewhere else. What's your name?"

"Sammill Nax."

Her eyebrow jutted upward.

"Something the matter?" asked the man.

"I have to say, I was expecting you to give us your 'other' name."

"My what?"

"Do not pretend to be ignorant, Lord Raxthan."

The man sputtered, composed himself, then bent over laughing.

"Oh, geeze, his mouth could function as a bloody hangar," he said between guffaws.

The Jedi's jaw was by this point hanging wide open.

"Look, I was talking to an associate of mine, wondering why I didn't have some ominous title. He kept badgering me until I finally told him that name to get him to shut up."

The interrogator shook her head. She reminded herself that sanity wasn't a strong point among his kind.

"Alright, let's shift back to my first question. You're a Sith, wanted for several murders, and you came to _Coruscant_ of all places…to get drunk?"

"Best Corellian Ale this side of Corellia. Why not?"

"Well, there's the whole 'fugitive' issue."

"And?"

Jedi Master Ginzs shook her head.

"This isn't…going as expected," she muttered.

"What were you expecting?"

"At least two or three 'You'll get nothing out of me, Jedi scum!'s, or a 'The Republic shall crumble!' instead of full cooperation."

"Both statements are untrue. Cliché, too."'

Ginzs wrung her hands together. She had no idea what to say, so she went with the most immediately obvious course of action.

"Tell me about yourself."

"Sure, why not? What do you want to know?"

"Your life. Start at the beginning."

"Well, Dad got Mom drunk one night…"

"Later than that.

"Fine. Born here on Coruscant, junkie mother and a father I've never learned the name of."

"What made you join the Sith?"

"Well, my dear, sweet Master found me here. Replaced one of my mother's syringes with one loaded with acid and made me watch. Not the nicest sort of fellow."

"And then?"

"He taught me. What else? Lightsaber combat, the history of the Sith and the Jedi (with all the proper embellishments, of course), Force usage, the works."

"What happened to him?"

"He's passed on, I'm afraid."

"By your hand?"

"Indirectly. You see, he discovered that I possess a knack for alchemy, primarily creating poison. He became so paranoid that I would poison him that he stopped eating anything not tested by a dozen droids. He even brought in a couple of slaves to be tasters. Then he stopped eating at all, relying on the Force for nourishment, but quit that because he felt too exposed while doing it. He died of starvation without me lifting a finger."

"Did you arrange for this to happen?"

"I noticed it happening, then gently pushed it along."

She stifled a yawn, feeling exhausted for no apparent reason. She attributed it to the long day.

"Why are you telling us this?"

"Because I've been exhaling poison for the last five minutes."

She gaped at him, brain taking a few seconds to comprehend the words entering her ears. The guards raised their weapons, then collapsed unconscious. Nax rose from his seat, expression as neutral as it had been when he had entered.

Ginzs shot to her feet and pulled out her lightsaber. She raised a hand in the air, aimed at him.

"Explain! NOW!"

"Why?"

With a grunt of annoyance, she channeled the Force through her arm, culminating at her hand as a sphere of potential energy.

Before she could launch it, however, her stomach seemed to invert. She vomited an unsightly mixture of blood, partially-digested food, and stomach acid. Nax shook his head.

"See, it's just a little soporific agent I keep in my lungs. But if someone who inhales it tries to use the Force…"

He did not finish his statement. He didn't need to.

He picked up her fallen lightsaber, ignited it, and cut his shackles, pocketing the weapon.

Leaving two people and one corpse behind, he took his leave.


	2. Chapter 2: Lucky Hit

_In which questions are raised, word spreads, and a perked ear catches something interesting._

"Alright, from the beginning. Tell me everything."

The portly Republic official's comical appearance, complete with oversized moustache, was oddly offset by his grave expression. On the other side of the table sat one member of the unfortunate pair of guards.

"We picked up a ship flying through restricted airspace. We saw the guy leave the ship and started chasing him, but the crowd was too thick. One of the Jedi popped up, told us the Force told her something was happening, and asked for a description of the man. We told her, she thrust a pair of funny cuffs into our hands. Told us what the guy'd done, that the cuffs would keep him from trying anything funny. Said it would fry his brain or something if he tried using the Force, I dunno."

"Elaborate on the airspace."

"We have a few no-fly zones in the area, clearly marked. He flew right through one. What's weird is that his little "detour" was actually _less_ direct than a legal path to his destination."

"Probably wanted you to catch him."

"What I was thinking. Anyway, we started asking around. People told us they saw him go into a bar. We followed him there, snuck up behind him, and got the cuffs on before he could do anything."

"Wait, where was the Jedi?"

"Following us at a safe distance. Didn't want her presence tipping the guy off."

"Hold on, something doesn't fit. You _snuck up_ on a Sith Lord?"

"Don't ask me how. He had a few empty tankards in front of him; we figured he was drunk."

The official frowned, another nagging thought burrowing into his mind.

"Which bar?"

"The 'Hutt's Arsehole', why?"

The official nodded.

"Alright, keep going. You have him in custody. What happens next?"

"We take him to the nearest detention center. Jedi tells us she's going to fetch a good interrogator. You can see what happened next on the tape."

"Let's skip the tape for now. Why didn't any other guards try to apprehend him?"

"Unconscious, the lot. We found this…"

He opened the large metal briefcase next to him and extracted an odd cylinder. It appeared to be a sort of gas tank.

"…In the ventilation system. Probably put it there beforehand, had it on a timer."

The official snapped his fingers, then hastily apologized.

"How many detention centers are there in the general area?"

"Three within walking distance of the bar, why?"

"How many within a mile?"

"Just the…one…"

The guard lightly rapped his forehead in annoyance.

"Planned the whole damn thing."

"Looks like it; check the ventilation systems of the other two. Tell every Jedi within a mile of any one of those to abstain from using the Force for a while until the autopsy results come through."

The guard rose, saluting smartly and exiting the room at a quick pace. The official sat, stroking his moustache in standard "Pondering Gentleman" fashion. He pulled out Nax's profile and looked over his crimes.

He had most of the standard criminal affairs on there, but something bugged Captain Jirs about his violent crimes: assault/battery and murder.

_But the only murders are Jedi…_

This explained the poison; the only fatality of yesterday's disaster was Jedi Master Ginzs. Why go to the trouble of keeping not only Republic officers, but _witnesses_ alive?

The guard returned an hour later, briefcase obviously heavier.

"Found the same things in the other two ventilation systems; these didn't go off."

"Means he triggered the one himself."

"Not quite. We found this spice addict near the center; guy told us some freak in a robe offered him enough credits to buy half the bars on Coruscant to press a button if he saw said freak being dragged into it."

"Took him up on the offer, I take it?"

"We're searching the money for traces."

"No psychometrics?"

"Could've laced the stuff with something nasty; we're keeping the Jedi out of this as much as possible."

"Got his ship, too," he continued. "Hazardous Materials team's checking it out."

"He's still on-world?"

"Nope. Some snob came whining to us, saying some guy in a robe stole his ship."

"And he didn't tell us earlier _why_?"

"He didn't exactly buy it through legitimate means."

The following silence, both heads bowed, was broken by a sharp knock at the door. The guard opened it, letting a haggard technician burst through.

"Got a hit on a comlink we bugged."

"Do tell."

"One of that Nax guy's friends. We traced him to Nax, found him when he took a vacation to Coruscant, then messed with his comlink while he was passed out in a pool of his own vomit a few months ago."

"Lovely. What's the message?"

"'Got out. Meeting still on. Myrkr, three days'. Voice was a perfect mach for our boy."

Jirs nodded.

"Get two teams together. I want the last location of the comlink stormed, as well as Myrkr.

The technician nodded, saluted, and left.

--

The Jedi Temple

"Dishonorable kill. I can't stand men of that sort."

"That's the part that bothers you? That he used poison?"

"Yes, why?"

"Would she be less dead if he was courteous enough to use a lightsaber?"

"Well, no, but…"

Jedi Master Yorumi and Jedi Knight Tikka always bickered over these sorts of things, and were preparing for an especially fantastic argument when a guard arrived. After he explained the situation, the pair looked at one another.

"Should we use Jedi, or standard troops?" asked Tikka.

"A combination. His skill is Jedi-hunting, but ordinary troops would not last long against him. A four-man team, composed of two Special Forces men and two Jedi, should go after the comlink, a ten-man team, with the same balance, to Myrkr."

"Awfully large team."

"Awfully large planet, particularly with nothing more precise to work with."

"Leave us," continued Yorumi. "Retrieve seven of your best. We shall rouse our own."

The guard bowed and walked briskly out.


End file.
